


A Hopeless Situation

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one shot.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hopeless Situation

++++

"Stay with me, d'Artagnan!" Athos ordered firmly as he stared at the boy chained against the wall opposite him.

"Mmmmm," d'Artagnan's eyes were closed as he licked at his dry, cracked lips, "try... trying."

Banging his head in despair against the solid wall behind him, where he too was chained, all Athos could do was pray Captain Treville would find them in time. For he feared for his petite frere's life as the pool of blood at the lad's feet grew ever larger. " _Don't... you... dare... die on... me!_ " Athos meant that to come out as a direct order but it sounded more like he was begging for the boy to listen to him.

Barely able to lift his head, d'Artagnan tried to focus on his beloved mentor’s voice, finally zeroing in Athos’ drawn face. The dungeon-like cell they had been thrown into together did not provide for much light making it hard to see one another. "Next time," d'Artagnan coughed, smiling weakly, "they come in... perhaps you could encourage them to torture _you_ next, eh?" He tried laughing but ended up having a horrible coughing fit instead.

Admiring d'Artagnan's dogged determination to make light of their dire circumstances, Athos railed against God for letting this come about in the first place. He should have known better that their luck wouldn’t hold out on such a simple assignment as delivering a package to the Reale currently docked at the port in LeHarve.

It was a relatively short journey of a little over four days either way and with bandit activity down Athos thought they would have an uneventful trip. Treville already had Aramis and Porthos out on another mission and had teamed him and d’Artagnan up with Georges and Heraut. Both men were excellent Musketeers and couldn’t have asked for better brothers to accompany them.

Alas Georges and Heraut were the first to fall in the attack that led to their capture. Athos silently promised revenge for their deaths. But to do that he first had to be free. At the moment that was as unlikely as their captors walking in and telling them they could leave with their lives with no strings attached.

Only a few days had past since they were taken, but It was d’Artagnan who had suffered the most thus far at the miserable cur’s hands. Their tormentors assumed that Athos would break if his younger brother were tortured before his eyes. What puzzled him was that these cut-purses already separated them from their delivery. So since the package was in their hands already why were they doing this? “I ask you again before you lay that whip to d’Artagnan’s back once more,” Athos growled low, “what is it you require from us?”

“Nothin’,” a short, wiry man grinned, showing yellow, rotted teeth. “We just get paid to do this for fun," he snickered. 

“Oh mon Dieu!” Athos’ heart dropped. If that were the case, and it looked very likely that it was, this indeed was a hopeless situation to escape from. No one knew where they were, even Athos and d’Artagnan didn’t know their location being unconscious when they were taken here. “Then punish me next,” he took d’Artagnan’s earlier jest to heart and pleaded for them to strike him with the whip instead.

“We like hurtin’ the pretty kid,” another man sauntered in. “Watchin’ you, _Musketeer,_ ” he sneered into Athos’ angry face, spitting _Musketeer_ out as if it were a dirty word, “sweat bullets as we strip the skin off the whelp’s back is worth our time and trouble.”

“ _NON DE DIEU!_ ” Athos swore violently. “I will see you all pay for this! We are the king’s Musketeers and any offense against one of us is an offence against your monarch!”

“We’re shakin’ in our shoes,” the short one cackled. “Think we’re afraid of the Bastille or Chatelet?” he scoffed. “Been there... done that and as you can see we’re still free men.”

That remark along with the other one about getting paid to do this to them had Athos wondering who was greasing their palms. This wasn’t about a normal package delivery, he finally realized. This was all about killing them. It was personal and that could only mean one thing in Athos’ book... _Richelieu_ was behind this.

And then, when Athos was positive there was no way out for him or the pup, the beautiful sounds of musket fire reached his ears. Sweeter than any melody he’d ever heard played. The clashing of steel on steel meant that rescue was at hand and Athos watched as the two canailles looked at each other in shock and fright.

“This time,” Athos’ voice could have cut glass, “I do not believe you will escape either the Bastille or the Chatelet,” he allowed himself a small smirk, “ _alive_ that is.” Athos jerked his head toward the boy. “He is favored by all but most importantly d’Artagnan’s the king’s champion.”

“Eh,” the short one glanced at the other in surprise, “nothin’ was said about that,” he squawked like a woman. He saw his life flash before his eyes knowing that his head would be on the chopping block for this bargain they had struck.

The other man frown’s deepened as the ramifications hit home for him too. More than ready to cut his losses, he grabbed the shorter one by the arm. “Let’s get outta here while the gettins’ good!”

No sooner had those two run off than Athos heard the unmistakable sound of Porthos growling fiercely wanting to know where his two brothers were.

Athos could have kissed them there and then when Aramis ran into their prison with Porthos bringing up the rear dragging two unconscious bodies of the canailles behind him, one gripped tightly in each large hand.

“We’re always having to clean up after you and d’Artagnan,” Aramis grinned, sending Athos a quick wink.

“Tend to d’Artagnan!” Athos snapped, his voice harsher than he intended toward his friend, but he was in no mood for levity of any form. “They took the lash to him!” he added bitterly.

The ready smile Aramis usually wore faded quickly away at the sight of his petite frere’s pitiful state. “Merde!” Seeing the blood on the ground by d’Artagnan’s feet made his stomach turn.

“Was it these two who done it?” Porthos barked as he shook the two men he had in his possession by their jackets. He wanted to shake them until their bones rattled and even then that would never be enough for what they had done to their whelp.

“Oui,” Athos nodded wearily. “Both took great delight in our youngest’s pain.” Athos saw Aramis looking for a key to open the lock on d’Artagnan’s chains. “Check the short one for it,” Athos told Porthos and watched the larger Musketeer rummage through the unconscious man’s pockets.

Lifting his head up, Porthos grinned. Dangling the keys in his hand he then threw them to Aramis who deftly caught it in the air.

Carefully, handling the lad as if he were the finest of china, he took d’Artagnan in his arms as the chains gave way. “Porthos make ready our wagon but not before freeing Athos, eh?”

“Merci,” Athos grimaced as his wrists were finally freed. Rubbing at the chafed skin he joined Aramis who still held d’Artagnan tenderly, careful of not touching the pup’s injured back until he could treat his wounds in the wagon.

“Is Treville with you?” Athos asked, his eyes never leaving the unconscious child.

“Oui,” Aramis replied. “As soon as we discovered merely by chance that you two never arrived at LeHarve the captain ordered a group of us to accompany him on his search.”

Struggling to help Aramis with the younger man’s dead weight, they both lifted d’Artagnan to his feet. It wasn’t until then that Aramis’ remark struck him oddly. “ _By chance_ you say?”

“A few of the cobblers that visit the garrison from time to time mentioned to us that on their way to Paris they ran into some men that had traveled from LeHarve. Those men said that they witnessed a fight take place between two Musketeers and several other men who they assumed to be crooks,” Aramis shook his head sadly at the lack of help his brothers had received from those individuals. “They even saw the Musketeers being dragged off,” he smiled grimly. “At least that gave us a starting point for our search.”

“Of course those men who were witness to our attack didn’t bother coming to our aid,” Athos gripped d’Artagnan tighter as the lad threatened to slip from his firm grasp. “I should not have expected any help from that quarter but it would have been nice to be proven wrong about some of France's fine citizens,” Athos remarked drolly with a roll of his eyes.

“Eh,” Porthos came back inside and placed his hands on his hips. “Need some help, yeah?” Without waiting for a response from either man, Porthos carefully picked the whelp up in his massive arms and with great haste took the boy out to the wagon he had made ready. There was a makeshift bed created from all his brother’s cloaks put together to which Porthos placed d’Artagnan on making sure the pup laid on his stomach and not his side, which would have made it far to easy for his brother to roll onto his injured back.

Moving aside, Porthos made room for Aramis as he watched their medic rip away the remains of the lad’s shredded shirt, only to reveal a mass of jagged welts that still weeped copious amounts of blood. Noting Athos’ anxious face peering into the wagon, Porthos immediately got out. “Go on,” he urged gruffly. “Our young one needs you by his side, eh?”

Not needing a second invitation, Athos jumped in and cautiously sat down near d’Artagnan’s head. Afraid to touch the boy he questioned Aramis with an arch of his brow, conveying all he needed to say with just one look.

“D’Artagnan is running a low grade fever, but as soon as I clean out these wounds that should abate,” Aramis offered his worried friend a small smile of comfort.

“He lost a lot of blood before your arrival,” Athos’ fingers reached out to tentatively touch that precious Gascon head.

“D’Artagnan’s young and, until this happened, quite fit,” Aramis risked a quick glance at his older brother once more. “Our chiot will make it.”

“Mmmmmm,” d’Artagnan’s eyelashes fluttered as he stirred. “Calling me names... when I can’t... defend... myself?”

Bending low to peer into the child’s face, Athos looked over at Aramis. “Is he actually awake?”

Chuckling, Aramis kept his focus concentrated on the boy. “I doubt it.”

“Ah,” Athos smiled. “Reflex reaction to being called a _chiot_.”

With a raise of his hand, Aramis indicated to the squad of Musketeers that waited anxiously around them that they could head out for home.

“It was the cardinal behind this,” Athos didn’t lift his gaze from the young Gascon's face. He hoped the journey back to the garrison would not be more painful for the boy. So Athos just kept his hand anchored on top of their young one's head, willing his strength into his protégé.

“We’ll never get proof against him you know,” Treville idly commented as he rode abreast of the wagon, having heard the exchange between his men. His eyes latched onto d’Artagnan’s back and he winced in sympathy for the youth. “If it’s any comfort I doubt those two hirelings of Richelieu’s will live out the week in the Chatelet where they are definitely headed for.”

“Richelieu will cover his tracks as usual,” Athos snorted softly, “like the snake he is. But I will hold him to account for this... _one day_ ,” he whispered those last two words quietly.

Hearing the vow from his lieutenant’s lips didn’t surprise Treville in the slightest. He only hoped that when the time came for that account to be paid up he’d still be around to witness it.

The End


End file.
